On the Outside Looking In
by RuthieBelle
Summary: This is what happens when Fallenbelle and Ruthie Green decide to write a fic together. Chapter 1: William's POV. Chapter 2: Julia's POV. Our take on the events of 10.01 from the viewpoint of Ruthie Green and Fallenbelle. Maybe this is complete. Maybe it isn't. We'll see what happens Monday and whether or not you want more. :)
1. Chapter 1

Title: On the Outside, Looking In

Authors: RuthieBelle (Ruthie Green and Fallenbelle)

Characters: William Murdoch, Julia Ogden

Rating: Teen for brief mentions of violence and sexuality

Notes: This is what happens when two FF writers (Ruthie Green and Fallenbelle) decide it would be fun to collaborate and write a story together. The first chapter is William's POV, written by Fallenbelle, while the second is Julia's POV, written by Ruthie Green.

Warning: Major spoilers for 10.01 Great Balls of Fire. Do not read if you don't want to be spoiled.

* * *

The last time they'd been intimate was the morning that she'd been shot.

He hadn't been in a hurry to resume the physical side of their relationship, as he'd wanted to give her some space and a chance to recover from her wounds. He was so happy to simply have her alive, he really hadn't minded that they'd been abstaining. After all, he'd abstained for years before, so what was a few months when it was necessary for her continued healing.

His physical desires had initially complied, having gone dormant in support of his wishes to allow her to heal, but as time went on, his desires returned, and he prayed that he could control his urges for her sake. He so longed to touch, to taste, and to smell, but with increasingly greater difficulty he held these longings in check.

But his resolve to wait was broken one fine afternoon on an unusually warm day in late February when Julia was more or less physically recovered. William arrived home from work to discover her stretched out across the bed, completely nude.

Reclining on her stomach, hair cascading down her back and her legs curled up behind her, she was a beautiful sight to behold with a novel in front of her and twirling one of her curls around her finger. William's heart sang with joy that she was in his home and on his bed while his blood began to sing with desire for the woman herself. With the sublime view of the side of her breast pressed against the mattress, and how the plane of her back tapered to give way to the irresistible dip of the small of her back, and finally all the way to the curve of her buttocks as they met the back of her thighs William stopped to admire his very own Aphrodite, a goddess exquisitely laid out before him.

Before he realized what he was doing, his jacket, vest, tie, and shoes had been shed and he had joined her on the bed, kissing her passionately; something else he hadn't done since the shooting. Rolling her onto her back, he made his way down her body with his lips, like a devotee worshipping his goddess. Not sure if she was ready for him to acknowledge her scars or not, he left them alone.

She'd made no move to stop him, but she did nothing to encourage him either. She'd merely lain there dispassionately, as though she had resigned herself to performing her marital duty. She was not her usual self, participating and giving as good as she got in the act of physical love, she was just passive. Somewhere through his lust-addled brain, William realized that she was not a willing participant and immediately ceased his attempts. He'd never forced himself on a woman and wasn't about to start now.

Apologizing profusely for his actions, William quickly redressed himself and left for a brisk ride on his wheel, the whole time wondering if he'd done anything wrong. When he'd returned later that evening for dinner, Julia had dressed herself in a high-necked quilted flannel nightgown and a heavy blue robe. Any attempt to apologize and further discuss the earlier incident was quickly dismissed by Julia, and William decided that he was wrong to have forced himself upon her. Perhaps she simply needed more time to recover was all, and thus he decided to wait until she reinitiated intimacy between them.

The next several weeks went by and Julia only seemed to become more despondent and withdrawn, failing to show interest in the things that had once brought her great joy. She wasn't even interested in the progress of their house, declining to visit or help select an architect, or even consider potential building sites.

 _"Time, William. Just give it time,"_ he'd admonished himself, as he'd become frustrated at the lack of progress that he, she, or even they were making. He just needed to be more patient, he decided.

When Julia announced that an old family friend would be coming from London to attend the Toronto Season, William hoped that attending the parties and debutante balls would help her recover, although he did wonder why Julia was interested in attending functions whose main purpose was introducing marriageable girls to eligible young bachelors. Particularly given how much Julia had loathed her own début experience (or so she had once told him), he found it strange that she would go willingly, but if the thought of buying new dresses for the Season's parties would raise her spirits, he'd more than willingly wear his evening clothes and nurse a single glass of champagne all night long.

* * *

He'd lied to the Inspector. No, it hadn't been his intent to deceive, but rather to deflect an unwanted conversation. But the uncomfortable truth was no longer unavoidable if the Inspector had noticed and commented upon Julia's strange behavior.

He hadn't exactly done anything to allay the Inspector's concerns by denying that there was anything wrong with Julia when there so clearly was something amiss. Prior to becoming Inspector, Brackenreid had been a detective too, and William knew any half-decent detective would take that opening and investigate the matter further.

Thus, he knew that this was not the last he'd heard of the matter from the man as he left the Inspector's office and returned to his own.

Forcing his mind to concentrate on the investigation, he considered the facts of the case. It didn't take long to recall his conversation with Mr. Strong the morning after the murder. What had been the purpose of asking Mr. Strong if he had been intimate with Miss Embry? What bearing did that have on the case? Had he asked the question merely because he'd wanted to live vicariously through the young man's sexual exploits? To recall a time in the not so distant past when he had been a satisfied man in all matters, enjoying the boost that regular sexual activity had delivered to his confidence.

Sitting down at his desk, he closed his eyes and tried to relax. There was no doubt that his home life was impacting his work and it was no surprise that the Inspector had said something to him; it was becoming problematic. He wasn't sure how much longer he could go on with the current state of affairs; it really was becoming quite untenable. Something had to change soon, for better or for worse and he prayed that it was for the better.

There was going to be another soiree this evening at some genteel home or other to host the debutantes and as the murderer was likely to be in attendance, his presence would be required in an official capacity rather than as a guest. The only positive aspect of the evening was that Julia would be there and he could at least keep an eye on her. Not for the first time, he hoped that the party would put a genuine smile upon her face. It had been so long since he'd seen one.

* * *

Ever since he had heard that Julia had not attended the evening's event as she'd not been feeling well, he'd wanted to get back to her immediately. Unfortunately, Faye Sloane's non-appearance at the party had been enough of a concern that he'd been forced to go to Miss Sloane's room to check on her wellbeing, and unfortunately, his concern was warranted: the young lady had joined her friend in death.

Miss Sloane hadn't seem particularly interested in winning the hand of Mr. Strong, and as thus, hadn't been considered a front runner for marrying the man. Therefore, he now wondered if there wasn't another factor silencing these girls. Miss Sloane had been digging for gossip, what if she'd discovered the very thing that had led to the murder of Ruth Embry?

But it was late, and there wasn't much he could do until morning anyway. Allowing himself to take his mind off the case for once, he instead allowed his mind to drift back to thoughts of his wife.

If he had to be honest, Julia hadn't been well or her normal self for months now. At first, he'd left her alone, allowing her the space and time necessary to heal from what she had gone through, but time had cured no ills in this instance. If anything, she was drifting further and further away, and he was at a loss at how to respond.

As he climbed the stairs to the Hotel's third floor, his mind raced with the possibilities of what he might find in their rooms, and he wasn't sure what he wanted to discover. Julia had always been a drinker, and he'd hadn't particularly minded it previously as her custom never led to inebriation very often, but she wasn't drinking just a glass or two of wine anymore, it was now several glasses of whiskey. At first, he'd chosen to ignore how much she'd been drinking, even challenging the hotel bill one month when he saw that there had been several bottles on the receipt as some kind of mistake. The hotel had graciously removed the charges without argument, but when a similar number appeared on the tab the following month, William knew that it was no error, Julia really had been drinking that much.

Arriving at their door, he opened it with trepidation, nervous as to what might be awaiting him. Half expecting to be greeted with another occurrence of Julia passed out on the couch with whiskey tumbler by her side, he breathed a sigh of relief when the room was dark and Julia was soon found in bed. Observing her form for a few moments, he noted that she was not asleep, as he'd spent far too much time studying her and knew how her breathing patterns differed while she was awake versus while she was sleeping.

"Julia?" he called out, hoping that they could talk.

But there was no response, and William knew she was pretending to be asleep as to avoid talking to him.

Sighing, he sunk back against the doorframe, hitting it with a solid thud, and rubbed his face with his hands. She didn't want to talk with him; she was avoiding him. There was no denying it.

Deciding to give her the space she clearly desired, William grabbed his pajamas and slipped into the bathroom, performing his nightly routine. Finished, he opened the closet and grabbed the spare blanket and pillow, and walked back out to the living room, dropping them on the couch. Walking back over to the doors to their bedroom, he closed them none too quietly. He hadn't slammed them, but he was angry at the current situation and he realized that he didn't care if she noticed that he wasn't buying her act that she was sleeping.

He'd been truthful when he said that all he wanted was a quiet evening at home with his wife, but this was not what he'd meant by that statement. He wondered if he'd even enjoy such a thing again. For the first time since the whole ordeal had begun he allowed himself to acknowledge that when he'd vowed to stand by Julia in sickness and health, and for better or for worse, that perhaps the better part of their relationship had passed and all that was left was the "worse" as it were.

Further adding to his sour mood, a glance at the side table featured two tumblers sitting next to an empty bottle of whiskey.

It appeared that Julia had entertained a visitor, and while Lady Atherly had been a known guest the past few days, William knew she only drank wine. Plus, she'd been at the social gathering doing whatever she could to ensure that she sold her daughter's hand in marriage to the highest bidder, he thought distastefully. Therefore, the glass wasn't hers, but someone else's.

Not too many women drank whiskey, so odds were that Julia had entertained a male visitor. Who? Why? Had they merely talked? Or had they done something more?

William exhaled and closed his eyes in an attempt to channel his anger. Jumping to conclusions wasn't going to help him or Julia, and he reminded himself that he needed to be patient; she needed time to heal emotionally.

But it made no difference. Grabbing both of the tumblers, he hurled each of them into the trashcan along with the empty bottle.

If she'd heard any of this (and he knew that she had), she made no effort to come and see what was going on.

He laughed bitterly.


	2. Chapter 2

**-From the Right Side of the Bed-**

 _"In the absence of communication from the right side of the brain, the left side does not have all the facts it needs…both sides must collaborate for the best outcome…"_

# # #

Julia stumbled a little on the threshold, trying to tell herself it was merely because she caught her toe in the carpet, certainly not because she'd had too much to drink. _No certainly not enough_ , _truth be told_ , she thought, and definitely not because every time she passed through she heard three sharp bangs and felt a searing tug in her abdomen—sensations that came and went in a flash, leaving a lingering malaise. William had offered to change rooms or hotels, but Julia had not been willing to give into her fears. _I will face them_ , she had said, _just as I helped countless patients do so…I will practice my own preaching._

A bitter laugh erupted. _Apparently I am a poor excuse for a psychiatrist, because it is not working._ These were her automatic thoughts every time the symptoms intruded. _Now we are trapped here. Stupid, stupid!_ She yelled at herself, also recognizing the becoming-habitual gripe.

She closed the door behind her hoping to shut out the feelings, but of course that was just as ineffective. They leaked in from under the door and around the hinges, soaked into her very flesh so she brought the contamination in with her only to discover there was more inside that could not be dispelled, adding to the misery.

Shucking her shoes and wrap, Julia bare-footed to the sideboard and judged how much brown liquid was in the decanter and how long she needed to make it last. Her head ached, a vice crimped over her eyes making her squint even in the low light.

 _"Only two drinks left…?"_ she wailed to the empty room, and slumped on the green couch, knocking one of her wedding pictures over in the process. It lay on the floor, unattended, while she stared at it, trying very hard to remember what it felt like to feel happy. To feel…. _anything_.

She studied the image with a clinical eye. _I see a smile on my face, William so close to me._ She sighed. _It seems like a lifetime ago…_ The hairs on the back of her neck stiffened and a rush of guilt wrapped in hysteria overtook her _…A **life** ago, _ she corrected…That thought was shuttered quickly to be replaced by a now-familiar heavy feeling while she gazed at the photograph, unable to call up the lightness of being she half-remembered from that day as if it was blocked by an impenetrable fog of…. something _. Apparently when one tries to supress one sort of emotion all of them get dragged down together…_

She pulled the frame up from the floor, ran a finger over the glass then put it face down on the tea table and contemplated the bottle, aware she was as empty as the container. _If I had any tears left I would shed them now_. She had just poured herself the first few fingers of whiskey when there was a knock on the door. She looked at her glass and then to the door, then repeated the process, trying to decide what needed to take precedence: her desire for drink or her social obligations. _It has to be someone I know, at this late hour and with no ring from the front desk alerting me there was someone wishing to call on me, waiting in the lobby to be escorted up_ …

The knocking repeated. With effort, she put the glass down and, shoes back on, answered the door with a grimace. She was not even really surprised at who was revealed. "Inspector," she greeted half-heartedly.

"Good evening, Doctor. I wonder if I might have a word…."

# # #

 _Later…._

 ** _Vol 10. p. 42 Journal J. Ogden (1904)_**

 ** _I have ruminated enough & tonight I will take some of my own damned advice rather than just sit here looking out the window and dreading seeing who is coming up the street. Physician heal thyself indeed! -Besides there is no more whiskey & I cannot sleep—I have not slept in weeks, not a full night. I get up without waking William, steal away to stare out the window at the street & empty the decanters. When he catches me I tell him I have used the water closet or have pain. He nods & goes back to sleep….he trusts me, accepts that I am telling the truth. I suppose he got used to that pattern when I was recovering from the gun shots & I'd take that situation back again in a heartbeat; THAT pain was easier to bear. _**

**_I cannot even write this…to put on paper is to make it real. SHE was here, in my home, drinking whiskey and taunting me with her bleeding…Nowhere is safe now. I cannot have these visions running around my head to frighten me & I cannot tell William about them—he will not understand…or I am afraid he will, I am not sure which is worse. He wants a quiet evening with his wife while I dread the silences between us… _**

**_I made the mistake of sharing a little with Ruby & by her unhelpful reaction I daren't tell any of this to anyone; certainly not anyone who can then pass it on to anyone else. I feel so alone in the midst of my life. Keeping my patient's secrets, keeping my outer reactions in check while I am with them, has trained me to keep my own counsel, and leaves me with no outlet._**

 ** _Too bad Dr. Roberts is dead (well probably dead as he is frozen solid as Lake Erie gets) so I have no access to his shock treatments this time, & Kate Ripley is in San Francisco, so I am left with Inspector Brackenreid as my personal psychologist! Of all people! How ridiculous am I that it has come to this? He tried to tell me we are the same—that he has been in the abyss into which I have descended. How could he have been where I am now? He experienced the horror of war … where there is honour, where there are fellow soldiers, where there is a hierarchy making decisions. He thinks I am afraid. No-it is not fear I am feeling. Oh, no. Sometimes it is just numb…and that's when it's better. When it is worse…. _**

**_Kate taught me to externalize my thoughts & question irrational thinking but, really! How many things do I have to feel guilty about? And how many things to be angry about? And what am I doing attending the cattle-call parties of the social Season? Smiling, making small talk about – well trivialities, deliberately inconsequential things when the big elephant in the room is death. Every waking hour consumed with death and tales of death. Always death. Fyodor Dostoevsky's elephant metaphor from his novel Demons. Demonic forces taking over a town—oh why did I ask William to find me a translation? I feel possessed, haunted by death itself in the person of Eva Pearce... 'You are the one that is still alive '… she mocked me as if that is my fault…_**

 ** _Ridiculous. But that is what I have become, is it not? A psychiatrist who is clearly having a psychotic break & a pathologist who is squeamish about bodies & blood now—there is not enough alcohol in the world for that. It is not like I haven't felt like this before…after Harlan Orgille, or getting buried alive, or almost hung, not to mention all the death I have seen and been elbow deep in, or heard of the evil in my practice… _**

**_William… Oh, William. You asked about how I am doing…I told you there has to be more to life than death. What can you fail to understand? This is the life we chose? Did we? When I went to Buffalo it was not only to escape an intolerable situation in Toronto but it was as I told you… it was to work as a healer, with the forces of life. That part was true._**

 ** _I was out of the business of death since then, seeing my patients get emotionally well, mentally stronger, and then Emily leaves and I get dragged back into the morgue. There was a time it was intriguing & stimulating, but long ago it shed that semblance for me. William, you don't interact with the bodies, do you? You are not intimately involved in cutting up and weighing souls. Oh, you might know intellectually how it is done, but you don't actually do it. I have no trouble at all understanding how cynical and detached my predecessors in the coroner's office became & I have started to feel badly for the path I am leading Miss James along, except that I can selfishly let her take some of the burden from me right now… Will Miss James, so naive and enthusiastic, be hollowed out by the vocation she has freely chosen? As have I?_**

 ** _I checked, William…it is just beyond eleven years ago we met. I flipped through to the first volume of my journals and there it was, March 1893. I read my words…I was so happy, feeling free, optimistic, vibrant… Alive! I knew my own mind. I charted my own course. I took responsibility for my own outcomes. What has happened to me in the intervening time? You insist it was fate we met and were matched; what if instead it was folly & tragedy? What happened to me? You, happened William… death brought us together._**

 ** _Mostly I am angry with you, William when I am not enraged at myself. Anger is a great antidote for guilt. I tell you this was not your fault… that Eva was to blame but, really, I am angry with you all the same. If not for you I would not have been a target. There—I wrote that out for the world and myself to see. Ugly, scary on the page._**

 ** _What would Kate think about that? Am I projecting? Am I trying to escape accountability? Is it helping me keep you distant? Or is it a defense against the fact you have distanced yourself from me? I think you have turned against me, William. You may not be doing that consciously, but how can you explain our lack of intimacy? Oh, you are polite, steady, mild, conscientious... but I wonder… Is your distance really only respect for me, my injuries…? Well they healed well -enough. One time I am not interested…one time I do not respond immediately to your advances in the way you seem to need me to, & you shut down & act like I am now …what? A pariah? Merely boring?_**

 ** _When you got back from your ride, what were you really appologizing to me for? For leaving abruptly? Or was the problem you saw my scars William? The ones I so artfully kept hidden for all these months? You took me by surprise reading Dostoevsky of all things, hardly conducive to romantic feelings, that was all—I had no time to cover up or hide and I was afraid of what you'd say when you saw my belly full of lines and puckers looking like the Pleiades where my flesh is humped  & bumped, still red and twisted, hard under my fingers. You are so visual, did my disfigurement shock you? Disgust you? Is that why you stopped and needed to appologize, for your reaction? _**

**_Are you really waiting for me to be the one to approach you? Even if I have no desire for you, what happened to yours for me? What happened to showing me you still want me? I thought that was an unquenchable fire, William. Why have you not spoken of desire? It seems to me we are kind but superficial—are you so uncomfortable with what I have done that unconsciously you reject me now too? It makes me wonder if you are seeking release elsewhere, or if you are merely put off by the whole notion of relations with a killer._**

 ** _The truth. Always the truth for you. Well, I am hallucinating that witch while I am awake now, not just in nightmares, each time more gruesome than the last. It is driving me mad, William._**

 ** _William…look at me, instead of expressing my thoughts I am having a conversation with you in my head. I cannot imagine what you would say in return -only that I will not wish to hear it._**

 ** _Is she a siren, calling me? You commented on that once, I recall, wondering if she had a strange hold over men, over you. Now she is calling me, William. I think of that young girl, yet another young person just starting out in her life, brutally murdered. Ha! Look at that cliché. Is there a kind murder? Ludicrous! What woman in her right mind goes to a dirty, dusty, cramped attic in a fragile white dress? For what purpose, no matter how compelling? Who lured Ruth Embry up there to her death? The ghost of Eva Pearce? So Ruth could fall in all her bloody glory, right across my path? _**

**_I had only seen Eva in my nightmares until that point. Was I a fool? I believed I was merely taking a long time to heal emotionally from the trauma: depressed, enervated, some reactivity, guilty. But now, the specter of Eva Pearce haunts me in broad daylight…._**

 ** _Except I do not believe in ghosts, William! You always say we have nothing to fear from the dead. Well, if that is so then I must be mad indeed because I see and hear her and she is tormenting me, sucking the life out of me day by day and night by night._**

 ** _I no longer know where my place is in this world. I cannot practice as a psychiatrist while I am having hallucinations and I cannot stomach the stench of death in the morgue, so I have been avoiding both and making excuses…soon I will run out of them. I don't seem to belong with you either, William…or is it you don't belong to me anymore?_**

 ** _Here is the hardest part, the two feelings that no amount of alcohol or dissociation have vanquished, even if every other colour has been bleached out of my emotional life. The greatest anger and fiercest guilt: If not for you, dear William, I would not have had to kill Eva Pearce. She always wanted us separated. The problem is that you have said that as long as I am in this world there is no one else for you but me. But Eva, evil Eva… she has managed to do by her death what she did not do in life- tear us apart. _**

**_If this is irrational, so what?_**

 ** _If I cannot exorcize the demons then what?_**

 ** _And if I am not in this world, William, will my torment cease? Will that be Eva's revenge on you…or mine?_**

 ** _Oh, ho—William. Speak of the devil. Your carriage just debouched you—am I saved from more dwelling? Have I learned anything from venting my thoughts and feelings? Will you want to talk to me? Will you want to make love with me?_**

 ** _William, do you remember telling me you saw the future, and the future was me? What if, just as you explained to me, there are many alternative timelines? What if you did see a future after all, but it is just not the one we are in, here and now?_**

 ** _Will you be able to understand that I have lost my mind, lost myself and in this case I am not sure you will be able to rescue me in time? That I am not certain I want to be rescued?_**

 ** _What if our fate has been altered, driven to the rocks, beyond our ability to control? Maybe I have always been destined to leave you…_**

# # #

Julia was in bed, back turned to the door when she heard William's key in the lock and the door softly open and close. She had hoped to be insensible by the time he got home, but absent the alcohol, her sleeping draught and the pain preparation she took were doing nothing for her. In her mind's eye she clearly saw his deft movements, his pause while checking their suite, looking in on her in bed.

"Julia?" she heard him ask, an entreaty in his voice barely disguised. She remained still. Her thoughts had been racing at the pace of her heart. She hid her journal where she knew William would never pry and silently ran her options over in her head. None seemed viable. She closed her eyes. _Will he understand? What will he understand?_

She heard his body at it connected with the doorframe. He rummaged around in his highboy and went to the bathroom, saying nothing else.

 _William!_ she raged in her mind. _William, please understand!_ Tears collected in her eyes but would not push themselves down her cheeks. _Please understand when I cannot. Please do what I cannot._

She was frozen in place, unable to arouse herself and unable to sleep. She heard him drag a blanket and pillow out of the closet and toss in the living room, then close the French doors. By the time she heard glass shattering and his angry exclamation, all she could think was that it matched her mood, _exactly._


	3. Chapter 3

**Evening of April 19th or Early April 20th 1904**

William's hair was singed, as was his clothing. He never even felt the heat of the flames when he went after Julia in that shop, feeling suddenly invincible, powerful and strong enough to brave anything to save her, bringing her out just in the nick of time before the floor above collapsed into the hallway. In the street, he called out for medical attention for her, his yell hot and painful over the rawness of his vocal cords. After he saw her loaded onto the cart, William stood there and watched it go down the street towards the hospital, feeling the exhaustion overtake him. Any other time, he would have insisted that he accompany her, hold her hand, stroke her hair, or anything to reassure her.

But not this time.

It was his duty to stay. There were larger problems: the search for more injured and dead, assessing the damage, protecting the remaining property. There was also investigating the cause of the fire—did it start in the dress shop by a fire-bomb...or elsewhere? _Yes,_ William thought. _It is my duty._ But that was not why he stayed. He gave a glance down the street and when he no longer saw the ambulance his shoulders slumped. _It is not just my apparel that is singed._

A few nights ago she'd sounded so weary when she complained that she was dealing with death. He'd brushed it aside then, but now the recollection jarred him out of complacency: the last time he'd heard her say something like it was shortly before she'd left for Buffalo. Had that been a warning that she had thoughts of leaving him again?

He wasn't ready to face her right now. Not after she'd lied to him and told him she was fine, not after she'd thought him not worthy to share her concerns, thoughts or feelings with, and certainly not after she'd tried to commit suicide. After both Lady Atherlys assured him that there was no one else in the shop to save, he knew that's what she'd done, his heart and chest squeezing tight with that awful recognition:

 _Was the thought of living with me so repugnant that death was preferable?_

As tears stung his eyes and threatened to spill down his cheeks, he steeled himself, and turned back towards the Inspector and asked about the city. He didn't want to think about Julia now.

Mercifully, the Inspector did not ask why he hadn't accompanied his wife (even though things were well under control) and instead shared what he knew about the fire's damage.

As they walked through the ruins and surveyed the damage, he made a mental note to slip over to the morgue as soon as possible to ask Miss James to wait with her at the hospital so that she wouldn't be alone or too disoriented. That way, someone would be there to advocate for her needs and interests as well, since she clearly didn't want his company.

Not that he felt like offering it anyway. Sighing at the prospect of yet another night on the couch, he wondered at which point was it acceptable to propose moving to another suite with two bedrooms or if she would perhaps prefer separate residences entirely?

He immediately chastised himself for his line of thinking and chided himself for his petty churlishness. Had he not sworn to remain loyal in sickness and health in his marriage vows? He'd just entered Hell itself to wrest Julia from Dante's grasp, so what was he thinking to just give it all up now as a hopeless cause? Julia needed his assistance, love, and understanding to heal. She did not need him to complicate matters further or to burden her with his needs and desires.

But it was impossible to not take it personally, the twinge in his heart reminded him, before he forced his focus again on the Inspector's words.

 **April 20th, 1904**

Helped through the door by Miss James, Julia stood transfixed by the sight of destruction out her third floor window, watching thick smoke lingering over burned-out buildings and noticing the smell of char that penetrated into their suite even with the windows firmly shut. She coughed, sending black phlegm up into her handkerchief while her throat burned.

 _I am alive!_ she thought amazedly.

Rebecca bustled about the bedroom, readying things for her bath. Producing a clean chemise and her green silk brocade gown, Rebecca ushered her into the bathroom, where a hot, scented bath awaited her. Julia wondered briefly how the young woman had known where these things were or how she would even enjoy them when she realized that William had probably explained about them. _Of course he did._ Even in the middle of one of the city's biggest fires, William Murdoch had seen to her comforts, knowing that she would appreciate and even enjoy the thoughtful touches.

Sinking into the rose scented bath, Julia allowed her thoughts to drift to William, her savior. Laughing softly brought up another cough. She thought of the time he had told her that she was a strong, capable woman and as such, needed saving from no one. Snorting, she shook her head in partial disagreement. She obviously needed saving from herself, and no one was better suited for the task than William Murdoch.

· _I rather hope you enjoy being my knight in shining armor, dearest William. Because you undoubtedly have been so on more than one occasion and are probably destined to be so again._

Stretching and luxuriating in the hot, fragrant water, she held up and flexed her leg, admiring the long and shapely limb as the water flowed down. Pity that society found it so scandalous to show them off, as long skirts were an encumbrance, holding a woman back by making it difficult to perform many simple tasks that men accomplished with the greatest of ease. Dropping it back into the water, she found that she was digressing, and needed to focus on the pressing matters at hand, such as the states of her life and marriage.

Shaking her head to rid it of off topic thoughts, she realized that she was truly one fortunate woman. Here she was, in the midst of the aftermath of a devastating fire luxuriating in a hot, scented bath, she had a roof over her head, she had people who cared for her, and she had a man who loved her to ruin. _One who had risked his own life to retrieve me from the flames._ She wasn't sure she deserved any of these things, but had them she did, and rather than behave like one of the spoiled debutantes who hadn't realized their good fortune, she decided that she would try to be deserving and appreciative.

Dipping the washcloth into the water, she began to scrub away the black soot on her face and arms, while being mindful of her bandaged hands. She'd have to ask Rebecca to redress them anyway, she thought and ignored the pain as they came into contact with the hot, soapy water. Annoyed at being hindered so, she still appreciated the pain that reminded her, again, that she was very much alive and wanted to stay as such.

 _What the hell had I been thinking, doing something so stupid?_ Killing herself not only would have meant Eva had won in her ultimate goal of separating her from William at least in part, but it also would mean that she wasn't a strong woman, merely as weak as Hamlet's Ophelia.

His absence at that moment was keenly felt, and she understood why he was currently keeping his distance. He had trusted her implicitly, and she had violated that trust most profoundly with her most recent brush with death. It certainly wasn't the first time she'd scared him, and he had always made it clear that his overprotectiveness stemmed from concerns for her safety rather than a need to control her.

 _Oh, William._ She'd treated him poorly the past few days, that much was certain, and the man was no moron, no doubt he'd figured out what had been her intent, and was understandably hurt by it.

Despite her assurances that she would always be careful, she had just done something that, in retrospect, was so incredibly foolish and reckless, all of it wrapped up in a lie. She had lied to the both of them- herself and William, when she could not bring herself to trust him with what was going on inside her head, and she listened instead to the ghost of Eva.

Rousing herself from the womblike bath, Julia felt a little renewed if not exactly reborn. As she emerged from the bathroom dried and dressed, Julia was settled into her bed where Rebecca combed the tangles out of her still damp hair and changed the bandaging on her hands. In addition to _Sense and Sensibility_ (her favorite childhood novel and one she often returned to when she feeling unwell), the young woman also produced a box of her favorite chocolates.

 _Had the chocolatier survived the fire? Or had William saved them in his desk for such an occasion?_

Still, the kind and thoughtful acts brought tears to her eyes and made her feel culpable all over again. Not **just** for killing Eva Pearce, but for how she had pushed the people who cared for her away. _Oh William, however will you understand my irrational acts? How could I explain them to you when they are not logical to myself?_

She wondered when he'd be back. No doubt the fire demanded duty of William, but was it so dire that he couldn't even spare a few moments to check in on his wife? She'd be willing to bet that he was avoiding her, most likely upset and trying to process her actions with his rational mind.

Though she wasn't naïve enough to think that her brush with death and rescue cured anything so quickly, Julia knew now that she wanted to live, and she wanted to be the woman she had once been, _Or as much as could be rebuilt from the ashes_. She grimaced at her ironic choice of metaphor. Not only did she want to do this for William, she needed to do this for own wellbeing, starting with being honest with herself and her husband, no matter how difficult that was going to prove to be.

How was she going to tell William that she had returned to the fire not to save someone, but because none other than Eva Pearce had called to her? _I have been depressed for perhaps months. Then the hallucination was so real, so compelling…I know from the experience of my patients that the mind can produce extreme experiences, but I never expected it to happen to me!_ Would his logical mind dismiss the idea as preposterous? _Will he have me committed to my own asylum?_ Her mind shrunk from those thoughts, calling herself a coward after all.

Understanding that she didn't know how to tell him herself, she decided to confess to an intermediary, much like the way that William didn't confess his sins to God, but to his priest, Father Clemens.

Placing a bandaged hand on her arm, Julia made eye contact with the young woman.

"Rebecca, I have something I must tell you."

* * *

When Miss James called the Station House several hours later to inform William that Julia had been released from the hospital and was now back at their suite, William couldn't help himself and immediately hurried home. The inspector didn't even need an explanation—just waved him along with "It's about time" shouted after him as he grabbed his hat and went out. As he walked up to their room, he told himself that he would remain calm and rational. Julia was hurting, his own pain was inconsequential as he had not been shot nor had he almost died.

When he arrived, Miss James was finishing getting Julia settled so he gave them room, looking out the window at Toronto's still smoldering ruins. Miss James returned and informed him that while Julia was injured, she would be fine, her injuries limited to smoke inhalation and minor burns on her hands. He was immediately, greatly relieved, and sent a quick prayer of thanks to the Almighty. But when she also told him that Julia had claimed to be 'seeing' Eva Pearce, William first felt shocked and then utterly inadequate. Why had Julia chosen to share such a piece of information with Miss James, but not her husband?

Despite his consternation, he thanked her graciously for looking out after his wife and closed the door behind her, leaving his hand on the knob while he thought about what to do next. This past winter he'd stood more than once outside Julia's hospital room in just this way, gathering strength to go inside, hating to see his once energetic wife so diminished by illness and pain.

While Julia was hanging on to life by a thread, he had sat endless vigils, praying only for her life and for her to be with him again. Looking outside her hospital window he'd fixated on a vine which had wrapped itself around the sill, giving him something to mediate upon during the long hours. All the leaves had dropped but one which clung fiercely by the thinnest of stems, refusing to be parted from the woody, twisted vine no matter the ravages of wind and cold. He imagined that was Julia, stubbornly determined to stay with him; that little leaf a source of great hope when he veered towards despair. Well, his prayer was answered. Julia was alive, however her physical presence in this world did not mean she had actually been restored to him…

 _Why tell Miss James indeed, and not me? Does Julia not wish to speak with me at all?_ He had no way to interpret this piece of news. _Is this more avoidance, or the new reality of our marriage?_

William retreated to the sitting room and paced off its length from closed French doors to closed front windows overlooking the street, seeing his reflection in the glass as he used movement to work the problem out. The image he glimpsed of himself was one of an exhausted, ragged man, hunched with worry.

He stopped himself, appalled by the untidy mess he saw. Shoulders sagging, he sat in his chair and surveyed his once-happy home, eyes lighting on a picture frame lying face down on the tea cart. He turned it up, revealing one of their wedding pictures. Grunting at the scene of joy, he mourned: _Oh, Julia. What has happened?_

He placed it gently upright and exhaled sadly, before noticing that the small bureau which served as Julia's refreshment stand was completely empty, its surface cleared of the bottles, decanter and glasses which usually sat there. He suspected Miss James may have ordered the liquor removed, and imagined if Julia would throw an angry fit at him for trying to control her drinking. _Just as well._ He sighed again. _I should have done that a while ago, and I'll take her anger over silence at this point._

William loosened his clothing and dropped his shoes, trying to bring his mind back to Miss James's revelation. _What did that mean that Julia was 'seeing' Eva Pearce?_ Knowing that Julia was having some kind of morbid visions explained a few things but not everything: such as why go into that building and refuse to leave, knowing the outcome was surely a horrible death? _Was it a product of too much alcohol?_ _Was that evidence of delusions of some sort? Was that a guilty conscience? Or another kind of evil?_ His questions swirled in his head, giving him a pounding pain behind tired, crusty eyes.

He rubbed his face distractedly, unable to come to any conclusions without talking with Julia. More than unable, _unwilling_ to continue this folly of not communicating. He so wanted to see her, comfort her and be comforted, connect with her in that special way they used to have. He glanced at the photograph, remembering their wedding day in great detail, each moment crisp and clear in his mind. He sent his eyes from the picture to the double doors that separated him from his wife and came to a conclusion: _This will not do, not do at all._

William stood, took in a breath then moved to open the doors to their bedroom, anger animating his step. He stole a quick peek at Julia, expecting her to be awake and shunning him as before, lying as far on the right side of the bed as possible with her back to him. Just as he was about to announce himself, intent on talking to her regardless of whether or not she wanted to talk to him, he noticed that she was instead curled on his pillow with her arm out-flung over his bunched-up robe, sound asleep… actually asleep and not merely avoiding him, since her breathing was deep and regular. He spent several minutes just observing her this way, teetering between waking her up to demand answers and compassion for her obvious exhaustion.

Eventually he decided to defer his confrontation to another, more propitious time. He walked softy to the bathroom, cleaned up and dropped in his own wrung-out heap on the couch, allowing sleep to claim him as well.

* * *

Julia drifted slowly awake, feeling the slip of cool satin under her fingers and cheek as she moved in the bed. For the first time in weeks she had slept through until daylight without waking, allowing her mind and brain refresh itself without being plagued with nightmares, the adrenalin having worn off. She stretched a bit and turned over, noticing with surprise the late hour and that unsurprisingly yet disappointingly, she was alone in their suite. She sat up in bed, feeling weak, but better than she had in a long time, as if she had gotten past a huge impediment and was getting clear of the residue. She tested her hands gingerly, noting the pain was subdued so long as she did not disturb her flesh. _Getting dressed, however, is going to be a chore._

Julia drew William's robe over her shoulders and got her feet on the floor. She hoisted herself out of bed and over to the water closet, observing small details there that suggested William had been home last night after all, the remnants of his singed suit and once impeccably crisp, white shirt that was now stained with soot testifying that he had been her savior once again. Yet she had no memory of him coming to bed with her, reassuring and comforting her with his mere presence.

Sighing, she took stock of her appearance in the bathroom mirror, and was aghast at her reflection…pale with dark circles under her wounded-looking eyes. _If this is what I look like after a good rest, what was I looking like before?_ She threw water on her face and rearranged her hair before deciding she was actually hungry for a big breakfast…another development that pointed to a return to life. Opening the French doors to their lounge, she saw evidence William had slept on the green couch again last night, compressing his limbs on an entirely too small of a surface for any kind of true rest.

 _Poor William. I hope it is because he did not want to disturb me, and not because he could not bring himself to lie with me._ Julia imagined how tired he must have been. She looked for a note of some kind, any sign that William wanted to connect with her, respond perhaps to what Miss James was supposed to have told him…but nothing was obvious and she felt rather disappointed. She drew William's robe closer around her, pressing the collar to her face and inhaling his scent. She also let her memory travel to the decision she made last night about leveling with him, feeling fear creep back in, her fervor for the truth beginning to waver somewhat. _How in the world can I start that conversation?_

Lost in thought, she went over to his blanket and touched a soft fold, when a cart in the hallway outside her door bumped into the wall with a loud bang. Julia yelped and her hands flung up in front of her body, her heart immediately revving up with her mouth going dry. Wide eyed and trembling, she sat down abruptly, feeling dizzy, waiting for the moment to pass, and trying to inhale breath that did not seem to want to be taken in.

So she breathed. And she waited.

It was a good thirty minutes before her pulse was normal and the hairs on the back of her neck relaxed again. During that time her appetite fled as did the nascent confidence from just a few hours ago. The only thing that counteracted the anxiety was remembering feeling angry.

She shook her head, perturbed. _I thought this had been lifted from me…_ _Now what am I going to do?_

* * *

"Yes, George?" William acknowledged the constable.

"Sir. You wanted to know when it was safe to go back to the dress shop? I have just gotten word the building inspector has given the all clear."

"Thank you George, I think I will do that a little later on." William asked for the door to be closed, seeking some quiet to think about Julia.

To William, telling Inspector Brackenreid about Julia's delusions and hallucinations felt like a betrayal of sorts. Earlier, when the inspector suggested Julia was struggling in the aftermath of the whole awful affair with Eva Pearce, William automatically rose to her defense, sensitive to the idea that Julia was not strong and capable and in control of her own mind and wishes. Even though he knew in his heart something was wrong, even if he did not know _exactly_ what that was, he did not want to concede.

He then grinned wryly to himself: Brackenreid-as-Priest was a stretch, but it also felt good to confess the matter to someone who cared. The truth was the Inspector's assessment of Julia's motivation and behavior was not as easy to dismiss this time around, and warred with his anger and grief.

 _Unfortunately, Inspector Brackenreid has a point; Julia needs more help than I can give her._ William felt guilty that he had not seen her distress and arranged for help long before it got to this point…

William mentally reviewed the last several months, starting with Julia getting shot and his kidnapping, followed by a long, very painful physical recovery for her. Both of them needed some rest and recuperation after such an ordeal, and he wondered if he had been too distracted by Julia's very pressing medical needs to pay close-enough attention to her emotional state. He and Julia had not really talked about what had happened at that cabin, not shared their understanding of events in any depth. Silence on the subject caused William to assume they had put it behind them.

 _How wrong I was!_ he thought sourly.

He looked from the mountain of paperwork on his desk to the stacks of evidence on his worktable, all of which received his customary meticulous attention to detail. He compared this work to the efforts he paid to his wife and marriage. _Just how oblivious did I become?_ he asked himself. _Or is this just more evidence of when, and WHY we stopped communicating?_

He sighed deeply, then brought himself up short, disgusted with the frequency of this sullen behavior. He straightened his jacket and stood. _Enough! What have we been afraid of? I am going to talk with Julia about these hallucinations and whatever else she thinks has been going on. I am going to listen carefully to what she says no matter if I like it or not and I am going to be truthful in my responses whether she likes to hear it or not._

* * *

William's footsteps faded away from their bedroom door and she soon heard the front door open and close, signaling his departure.

Julia subsided against the pillows, allowing her unbound hair to re-tangle itself, much like her thoughts. She told William she needed to rest, and while true, it was more that she needed to absorb his words.

 _'Julia,'_ he had told her. _'You did what any normal person would have done. You were fighting for your own life. It wasn't murder; it was instinct.'_

As much as she wanted to talk with William that was not how she supposed the conversation would go. She did not expect him to be so mild and understanding…Nor so direct. She expected anger. She expected him tell her how he felt about finding her in the fire, about the estrangement in their marriage…

And she wanted to thank him for taking her out of the inferno. Desperate to tell him she loved him. _Needing_ to feel his arms around her…

 _But_ …as close as they were physically to each other, a hand's-breadth away so near they could feel each other's warmth, the moment faded. He did not reach for her nor did she reach for him; the chasm between them remained unbridged.

His words were all the 'right ones,' the ones that she herself might have said to an anguished patient about not taking on unrealistic responsibility and pathological guilt. She even thought he might be sincere, as far as it went. She so wanted to believe him, yet _something_ kept getting in the way… and she believed she knew exactly what that was. No matter how she tried to excuse it or set it aside, she could not rid herself of her anger. The damnable anger that was colouring everything else, and spewing poison onto anything it touched. Anger with Eva. Anger with herself. Worst of all, anger with William.

Knowing it was irrational did nothing to quell the rage. The most she could do was keep it pushed down; to do otherwise would court absolute ruin.

To be continued...


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note: This is the final installment of this journey. We both appreciate you guys indulging our attempt to fill in the blanks, and as always, a note to offer your thoughts as to whether or not we should write other material together as well as some constructive feedback would be most appreciated.

Note 2: Ezer k'enegdo is ancient Hebrew and is the term used to describe Eve in Genesis when she is first introduced to Adam. Sadly, it does not really have an English equivalent, and is often translated as "help meet" or "helper" when the ancient Hebrew connotes so much more. A better translation might be "partner", but the implication is that Eve was not inferior to Adam, she was meant to be his equal and while different, was his companion and partner-not just an assistant. We all know that William thinks of Julia as his equal, and not just an assistant.

* * *

 **April 21** **st, 1904**

Soon after returning from the train station, Julia flopped down upon the couch and exhaled sharply, grateful to be off her feet, and exhausted by the effort. It had certainly been one hell of an afternoon with the daughter of an old friend being complicit in three shocking murders.

But that was just the tip of the sword. Perhaps her subconscious had decided that it had had enough when she decided to tell Elizabeth Atherly that if Mr. Cross had truly loved her, he would never have let her marry another man. While she supposed that was mostly true, more than one person had heard her words, and she cringed when she recalled William's stricken face moments after she had uttered the careless statement.

 _I did not keep a tight-enough leash on my rage, and now I am going to have to live with the destructive results, and repair what I can._ True to form, William had quickly recovered and resumed his stoic, cold persona that he took on when dealing with murderers, but it did not fool her in the least. She didn't envy Lady Elizabeth or Mr. Cross in experiencing that coldness and disgust firsthand, but as they were murderers, she wouldn't be losing any sleep over their plight.

If she were truly Lady Suzanne's friend, she supposed that she would be at the Stationhouse right now comforting her as her only daughter was being charged with three counts of murder. It had truly been a range of emotions for the woman over the past few days to go from being successful in arranging her daughter's marriage to an extraordinarily wealthy young man to the prospect of that same daughter now facing a date with the executioner.

But Lady Suzanne was not the woman Julia had once known and been close with, and if Julia were to be brutally honest, the woman had been partly culpable in the matter by trying to first control who her daughter fell in love with and furthermore all but coerce her daughter into marrying a man she barely knew as though she were a prize mare.

But such was the nature of the well to do, she supposed, recalling her own début experience and how her father had encouraged her to be less strong willed and more ladylike in the hopes that he could marry her off to some wealthy scion and not worry about her tainting the fair Ogden name by pursuing an education and her dreams of becoming a doctor.

Lucky for her, she was stronger willed than her father and had prevailed in her goals… as had Ruby she remembered with a smirk. Laughing, she recalled Ruby's own turn as a debutante, which she had self-sabotaged by openly flouting a dalliance with a waiter. Julia was sorry that she had not been as brave or as creative as Ruby, and had instead made sure that the entire affair was miserable for all involved.

It had come at a price, but not for the first time she was thankful to have removed herself from that world. She may have been born to it, but she doubted that she ever would have truly been a part of it.

No, marrying a Catholic police detective had pretty much removed her from the guest lists of Toronto's finest families, and she couldn't say that she regretted it. She was well heeled enough to afford what she liked, but free enough to do largely as she pleased. As far as she was concerned, it was an excellent arrangement.

Sighing, she remembered said Catholic police detective and remembered the hurtful words she'd said to him earlier that afternoon. She wasn't so pleased about that, disgusted what her unconscious had used as a weapon and about the consequences of her sharp, ungoverned tongue. Looking around the suite, she noted the neatly folded fresh blanket and pillow where William had been sleeping the past several nights, and she saw where a note had been left, written on the hotel's stationery.

 ** _Mr. Murdoch and Doctor Ogden,_**

 ** _Please contact the front desk if you would like for us to send a cot up. Additionally, if perhaps another suite with additional rooms would be of use, please contact our manager and we would gladly arrange the matter._**

Crumpling the note in her hand, she immediately consigned it to the waste bin. _Things were in a state indeed if even the hotel staff had noticed that William had begun sleeping on the couch._

Laughing bitterly, she walked towards the drink cart when she remembered that it had been cleared. At first she'd been angry at William for disposing of all of the alcohol, but quickly conceded that perhaps she had become too reliant upon it in recent months. Squaring her shoulders back and standing straight, she vowed that she would have a drink when she wanted one, as opposed to needing one. Instead she began pacing about the sitting room, formulating a plan.

Picking up the telephone, she made a call to the hotel concierge and arranged for a lady's maid to come to the suite in an hour's time to help her dress and do her hair. Next, she walked to the bathroom and drew a hot bath; pouring a liberal amount of the scented calla lily oil that William enjoyed so much and removed her clothes, relishing the feel of the hot water on her skin, and hissing when it touched the red marks on her hands.

She examined the scar tissue on her abdomen. The doctor in her had no trouble understanding the process of creating the thick web of connective tissue that the body used to repair itself, forming welts and keloids in the flesh. The body sometimes makes the broken, wounded places even stronger than they were before an injury. As ugly as they were, she knew the physical scars were not the real problem between her and William: instead of being stronger after all they went through, they were unravelling, their connection thinning to the breaking point.

 _It is past time that we spoke freely of the events of the past few months, and seeing as William doesn't appear to be keen on beginning the conversation himself, it is up to me to initiate it_. As she bathed she wondered how she would begin one of the most important conversations they would ever have, and how it would end...

* * *

As he exhaustedly dragged himself up the final flight of stairs, William wondered what would be awaiting him once he walked inside. It was only early evening, or about the usual time he left work, but the past several days had taken their toll.

He longed for a fine meal followed by a hot bath and bed, his wife curled up beside him as he surrendered to Morpheus. However, he reckoned the best he could hope for was whatever the hotel could scrounge up at a moments notice (probably some scones and tea) and a brief shower, to be followed by yet another night on the couch, hoping his headache would be satisfied with that and go away.

Given that he hadn't had that much time to process Julia's words to Lady Elizabeth at the train station, he hoped that Julia would have already retired for the evening, or at least have pretended to.

Opening the door, standing in front of the room and wearing his favorite blouse and skirt, was his wife. Behind her was a meal cart, fully laden with who knew what.

It was apparent that she wanted to make amends for her hurtful words earlier, but he wasn't inclined. He was both emotionally and physically exhausted, and not in the mood for either the truth or an argument, both of which were seemingly guaranteed tonight.

"Good Evening, William," she greeted him, standing firmly in place, gauging his mood.

"Julia, I'm exhausted. All I want is to eat something, take a bath and go to bed. In that order, to be precise," he announced as he hung his hat and walked through to the bedroom where he quickly shed his jacket, vest, and tie. His collar studs and cufflinks soon followed, and he rolled up his sleeves as he walked back into the living room, preparing himself physically as well as mentally as though he were readying himself for a fight.

"I ordered fried chicken. I wasn't sure when you'd be home, and it would still be delicious cold, so it seemed like a good choice," she explained, as if that was the most important consideration on either of their minds.

Years of good manners prevailed despite his resentment and desire to resist her show of normalcy. "Thank you. I am quite famished," he wearily said, lifting the lids on the food tray, grabbing a breast and biting into it gratefully.

"William, we need to talk," she announced, nervously twisting the bandages on her hands.

He paused, irritated at the ambush, and took a moment to decide how to answer, the insistent pounding in his head warning him to be careful. "What more needs to be said, Julia? I don't want to argue tonight. I suppose you will insist we must come to some sort of arrangement but can that please wait until tomorrow?"

Taking a deep breath, she plowed forward. "No William, I don't think it can wait until tomorrow. We need to discuss this tonight, before we hurt one another even more than we already have," she pleaded, hoping that his tendency to give her what she wanted would prevail here yet again.

"Hurt _one another_?" He looked up from his plate, food forgotten and his appetite crushed by tension. "Despite all I've said, done, promised… you don't think I really love you, so what more is there to say?" he asked.

"I am so very sorry, William. I need to apologize to you— it just seemed an apt thing to tell Lady Elizabeth considering the circumstance. I did not mean to imply…"

"Well, you said it yourself, Julia. What kind of man allows a woman to marry another if he truly loved her?" He saw her move to object, to make an excuse so he cut her off with a sharp gesture, his irritation flaring. "And don't hide behind your conceptualization of the unconscious! You continue to harbor anger and resentment about something I told you I had no choice in Julia. I explained that I could not stop you marrying Darcy even though it was without a doubt one of the worst decisions I've ever had to make," he explained, mindlessly finishing his chicken in angry bites.

She took the opportunity while his mouth was otherwise occupied to introject. "Yes, William. You are right. I have been angry with you since sometime after I got shot. You've been amazing throughout this whole ordeal and there's no rational explanation for my anger… Today at the train station was unfair, and…" Julia looked at William's tearful eyes and her courage left her. _He thinks it is about Darcy…how can I tell him it is about Eva?_

William slumped on the couch, pushing his bedding aside but making no room for her to join him. "I've been loving, kind, and patient all these months, denying my own needs and desires, and yet you still wanted to hurt me. So much so in fact, you thought you'd remind me of the worst time of my life: when the woman I loved more than life itself had asked me to stop her from marrying another man and there was no time for me to intervene. I told you that I resigned my badge and walked away from everything I had worked so hard to achieve because I realized that I could not live with the daily reminder that you were married to a man other than me and that I let it happen," he retorted.

"William, you've been all of those things and more, but I…" Julia began before she was interrupted.

William stood, raising his voice now. "You know what I didn't tell you, Julia? I didn't tell you that since I had tried to be a good, honorable man, and failed, there was nothing left to do but embrace my fate. I went out West to become a different man, the one I supposed, deep inside, I feared I should have always become. The night of your wedding, after I confessed all to the Inspector, I went to a bar by the docks. I drank because I couldn't stop thinking of you submitting your body to Darcy, the man you chose instead of me, the man I let have you because I did not find a way to stop him and I drank because didn't want to think anymore. It should have been _our_ wedding night Julia, so instead I found a prostitute who looked nothing like you, so that I couldn't even have the comfort of pretending, and I spent myself with her, Julia. I figured that if you could give yourself to another, so could I. That way neither one of us would be with the one we wanted," he flung acidly. He was inches from her, trembling, unable to look away from her face.

Julia reared back as if she'd been slapped, her face flooding with heat. "William, I… I don't…" she began, trailing off. She couldn't find the words. This was not what she wanted to hear.

"I went to the Klondike with every intention of becoming my father and engaging in a life of drinking and whoring without regard, and you know what? I despised it. All I wanted was a family, the comforts of a happy home, and a wife with whom I could share my life. Not just some unfortunate woman whose services I paid for by the hour. It didn't matter how much I drank or selfishly used other women because all I wanted was you, and try as I might, I couldn't purge you from my heart or my mind! I couldn't do it, and eventually, my old life found me and I realized that I was not my father, but I was who I was, and I embraced it. Eventually, I decided to come back to Toronto and scrape together a life, acknowledging that you were forever lost to me, and that I had to content myself with loving you from afar," he said, voice breaking and his eyes overflowing with tears.

Julia nodded, trying to stay focused and not give into her urge to run away. Her heart drummed in her chest and she held her breath, seeing William take a huge breath and knowing he was not finished…bracing for what was coming next.

"I thought _that_ would be the worst time in my life. Yet I came to view it as a time in my life that was necessary, and a trial that made me stronger. In my mind I believed nothing could ever be any worse." He shook his head with a quizzical look on his face. "Then a delusional woman who thought I loved her for some reason I cannot even begin to fathom, _shot you_ , and I was losing you all over again, just when I was finally happy in my personal life and I was finally going to have everything I had ever hoped for: you, a home, a family." William's breath was heaving, the power of his emotions taking him by surprise.

Julia forced herself to walk forward, laying one of her hands on his arm. "William, that is what I wanted as well."

William took her arm in his hand, and spoke sadly. "I notice you said that was what you 'wanted' past tense. What about now?"

She winced at his question, but sidestepped it for now. "I know I have been unfair to you, unfair to us. The issues with Darcy really _are_ behind us… Lately I have been struggling with so many thoughts about Eva Pearce, her behaviors, her death. She nearly killed me…" Julia had a flashback of being shot, burning pain stabbing her abdomen, making her momentarily unable to speak.

William watched Julia struggle to compose herself, remembering the sound of the shots that struck her and her bleeding body on the hallway floor. "Though you didn't die that day, Julia, I did lose you. The woman I love has become a shell of who she once was, and nothing I can do seems to bring her back. You may wear my ring Julia, but you're no longer my wife, my helpmeet, my _ezer_ _k'enegdo._ You're a woman I cohabitate with, and one who will perpetually remind me of my sins and mistakes it seems," he continued, quieter this time.

Julia was floored by his statement, wondering if this conversation was about to become too little too late. Nervously fiddling with a ruffle on her blouse, she struggled to find the correct words.

She started speaking slowly, her voice hoarse and full of anguish. "I killed Eva, William and the guilt pushed me over the edge. Today I also told Lady Elizabeth that if she pulled that trigger and became a killer it would change her forever. That was the real truth of my words William! Killing Eva has changed me in ways I cannot even begin to explain." She started to sob, standing in front of William, feeling the grip he had on her arm tighten. "In my mind, I saw and heard her taunt me. I have been blaming you for that, so angry it has been consuming me. For being her target. For having to kill her and be forced to live with the guilt of it. For the state of our marriage! You tried to take me off the hook, but I don't believe you! The law is everything to you. How can the great detective Murdoch forgive a murderess?" Julia dissolved into tears, pulling her arm away from William's grasp, unable to keep her feet from tearing her loose to run out of the room.

Expecting him to respect her wishes as he always did, Julia fled into their bedroom, and closed the door behind her. She stood there looking about the room, not sure of what she wanted to do next except try to control her crying. There was nowhere really to go but out walking to burn off her grief and rage, since talking with William was only making things worse. Unfortunately it was getting late, and there wasn't any place she could safely go by herself at this late hour. _Not the first time I've missed Emily or Ruby, someone, anyone to talk with that talks back! S_ he decided that she just didn't care—about anything anymore as thoughts of death jabbed at her. Flinging open the doors and briskly walking back into the sitting area, she glanced at William still sitting on the couch, his head in his hands, unmoving on the couch.

She paused for a moment, looking at him so desolate and forlorn and while she didn't think it possible, her heart somehow managed to shatter again into even tinier pieces, heartbroken at what they had both become and not wanting to live with the result. Willing herself not to start crying again, she walked over to the coat rack.

William's reserve broke. All the emotions, the tumult of fear and the anguish propelled him to grab her and pin her arms at her side so she could not escape. "No!" he cried. "You're not running away from me this time, you can't" his words demanded.

Twisting around so that she was facing him, she put her hands on his shoulders, pushing him away. "William, I can't do this anymore. I'm angry with you and I keep hurting you but I don't want to."

"It's too late for that, Julia. You've already hurt me and I'm in far too deep now. I have been for years, Julia. As I just tried to tell you, there will be no getting over you. Ever. You are such a part of me that there will be no extraction. If anything were to happen to you, if you were to die, don't you realize that I would die too? I may continue to breathe, but I would be a dead man walking. I'm addicted to you, Julia. I tried to replace you with alcohol and other women, but it didn't work. You're my vice," he admitted, his voice hoarse with shame.

Crying again she told him: "I do love you William, so it's why I can't be around you anymore. It's why I gave up in the fire…" Her voice was harsh and loud, and she turned and struggled to get out of his grasp, unable to bear seeing the look of shock on his face.

"No! Julia!" William put both his arms around her and fought her for control, exerting pressure on her body to hold her closely. He was terrified of what she would do if she left the suite in her current state and he forced her backwards to a wall to contain her movements. "Not this time! You are always trying to leave me! I am no psychiatrist, but I _do_ know you. You have been depressed of course, traumatized certainly. These hallucinations? Has it occurred to you, you may have been reacting to the medications you were taking? Look at me! I don't think you are trying to go because you are suicidal, I think you are suicidal because you have been distancing yourself from me." His voice was pleading, angry and he brought his mouth close to her ear. "Choose _me_ this time, Julia, please…"

Julia could not believe how trapped she felt, and pushed hard against him, shouting: "You _can't_ mean that William! I went there to kill Eva Pearce and I did…" There was a knock on the suite door, and a none-too-subtle inquiry if everything was all right. Both of them ignored the intrusion, locked into their confrontation.

"Julia, I'm going to tell you something I've never told you before. Not because I didn't trust you, but because it isn't my secret alone," his voice an insistent whisper. "But it's the only way to explain how I know you're not a murderer, and that you're not at all the same as Lady Elizabeth and Mr. Cross or even Eva," stroking her hair while giving her no quarter to resist. He spoke rapidly, hardly taking a breath, knowing he had no choice other than to bare himself, complete and utterly to her, and pray.

"I told you that I did not have enough time to stop your wedding, that I received your letter too late. Well, that is only partly true. I did have enough time to stop your wedding, but if I had done that, I would not have been able to free Constance Gardner. Yes, that's right. I did not somehow allow her to escape, Julia, I freed her myself! I opened the door, gave her most of my life savings, money I'd saved for a home and a family and advised her on how to avoid being caught. I told her where and when to cross the border and to keep a low profile. There was no faulty lock. That was a lie told by the Inspector, who covered for me though I did not ask him to and which is why I never told you all of the details before. I chose to free Constance Gardiner because she was going to face an unkind and unfair death because the law that means so much to me, failed her and the other women that man killed and maimed. You were freely choosing another life while she had run out of choices. I had choices as well, and it was the hardest choice I'd ever had to make, but I chose justice Julia, and you believe I let you down. You will never know just how much I hated making that choice, or how angry I was at God for putting me in such a position, but the choice was mine. I made it because if I had chosen you, there was no way I could have lived with myself, and I would not have been the man you wanted. That, Julia, is the cold, hard, truth." By the time he was finished his mouth was dry and his body stiff and shaking, his eyes pleading with her to understand. He separated a bit from her but kept her solidly against his chest with her back against the wall.

Julia was stunned. William Murdoch, who almost never revealed his innermost thoughts and feelings had poured out a blast of words that left her feeling ashamed of her own selfishness. "William, I… I didn't know. I don't…" she trailed off, starting to cry again, but this time they were tears of relief. Her breathing was laboured, as if she had just run a great distance.

"I didn't expect you to know. I didn't want you to know any of this. But this is how I know that you're no cold-blooded murderer. You were fighting for both of our lives: yours and mine. I understand why you did what you did: you killed in self-defense. Killed a woman who's responsible for the deaths of least two people, tried to kill you, and who would have eventually killed me just as you knew she would. If I can have compassion and understanding for Constance Gardner, how can I not have it for you? You're not a murderer at all, Julia. I know that, and now you can understand how I know that…." William paused from his long recitation, and brought her closer. "Julia, please…Choose _our_ life…."

He caught her blue eyes, and saw that for the first time _she_ was actually looking back—through the grief and anger his Julia was there; _in there_ and looking out again at him, even if it was only tentatively. He could not help himself—the power of their connection, which was missing for so many months from his life, jolted through him again with that look between them. He found her mouth with his and ravished her lips, hungrily kissing her, battering down any resistance to his passion. He worked her blouse open and placed one hand on her breast and the other on her buttock, pulling her closer. When she moaned in pleasure he sent his tongue and teeth to taste the flesh of her neck and bosom, the emotional tension between them having been shifted to a powerful sexual drive.

She saw his eyes darken with want and her struggles to get away reversed to become efforts to get as close as possible to him, opening his shirt and pulling the tails out of his trousers as his hands roamed over her curves. She let her hands grab his biceps, and opened herself to him, desperate for the connection.

"I once told you that life without you was worse than death, and I meant every word of it. I have no desire to live without you either my sweet William, but I can't bear the thought of hurting you any longer. Help me stop, William. Help me put an end to this, please," she begged, returning his kisses with everything she had as the stubble on his jaw only aroused her further. She loved him like this, when he was the opposite of the perfectly polished gentleman he presented to the world. This William was hers alone. Expressing his feelings verbally was not one of his strengths, but the man could speak magnitudes with his body and actions.

Picking her up, he carried her to their bed, and laid her down roughly, quickly lying beside her and taking her back into his arms, cradling her head with his hands. Digging her fingernails into his scalp, he rolled her onto her back before covering her with his body, pinning her hands to the side of her head. His physical arousal was insistently prodding her thigh and she delighted in his virility. This also was hers alone, _now,_ her jealous pride prevailed.

Climbing atop her to gain better control of the situation, the weight of his body shifted pressing the stays of her corset into her rib cage and suddenly the sensations were no longer pleasant. Despite her overwhelming desire blocking out everything but her need for him, she finally cried out and he immediately rolled off of her.

His breathing was harsh and rapid. It took everything in him to resurface from a veritable sea of lust to halt himself from pursuing her. "I'm sorry, Julia. I truly am. I shouldn't have forced myself upon…"

She silenced him with a kiss. "It's not you, William, but my corset," she interrupted.

Pushing herself off the bed, she stood up and began removing the rest of her blouse and skirt as William watched with rapt attention. She had not undressed in front of him since before the shooting, and he didn't dare hope as to what would follow next. She herself hadn't felt passion in months and now with both of their emotions stripped bare in front of the other, she was consumed with a desire to possess her husband in every sense of the word and she wasn't letting her corset impede them.

"Are you ready to see the new me? I'm not the same as I was before" she hesitated as she unlaced her corset.

"Yes. I have no doubt that I'll find you even more beautiful, Julia." Suddenly unsure, Julia hesitated in removing her chemise. Though he had seen scars before, seeing them on her was quite another proposition. Her husband was so visual, she was afraid that the still angry red blemishes would repulse him.

"Julia," he assured her as he walked over to her, tracing the neckline of her chemise with his finger. "I know you're nervous of what I'll think of your wounds, but I won't be disgusted by them, I assure you. That because you have endured so much for me only endears you even more to me, if such a thing were even possible. I'm ready, Julia, but only if you are," he soothed her.

Nodding nervously, she allowed him to remove her chemise and she soon stood before him exposed, fearful that he would change his mind.

Running his fingers over the scar tissue, she hadn't realized that she was holding her breath as he dropped to his knees to kiss them as his mouth traveled progressively lower.

"William, I want to see you as well. Please remove your clothes too," she asked.

Wordlessly, he stood back up and complied. Soon they were standing in front of one another, completely nude. Just as they had lain bare their souls, now so were their bodies.

William closed the distance. "Julia, there's no use in denying what I'd like to happen," he admitted with a laugh, gesturing to his arousal that was presently trapped against her abdomen. "But if you're not ready, I'm content to just hold you, if this means you are really coming back to me…no more running away. Promise me this is not just to placate me …"

But the tone in his voice left no doubt as to what he wanted to happen. She wasn't sure if it was the right time even though she felt herself melting with desire, but when else was it going to be? _When better?_

"It's time, William. Make love to me," she asked, taking his lips with hers, and smiling as he picked her up and gently laid her back down on the bed again.

"As my lady wishes," he murmured before he took charge of the event, holding her head between his hands for his own personal delectation.

In between kisses, she told him,"I don't want us to live separately, William. I want us to be equal partners again. I don't want to live like we have been living anymore." Julia wiped a tear. "Things must change, William, the alternative is unacceptable to me," she stated, sighing deeper in his arms.

"It is to me as well, Julia. You and I, we were meant to be together. I don't want, nor will I ever be with anyone else," he assured her as they again became one.

* * *

Later, basking in the glow of their restored connection, they lay in a tangled heap, holding onto to one another as though the other would disappear if they didn't.

Taking a deep breath, William broke the silence. "As much as I want to help, I think you need to see a professional, and I will even see one as well, if you think that I should," William offered. "I will do whatever you think is necessary to help you return back to the woman that I know you are." He held his breath, feeling the connection between them flowing strong and free, his heart filling with all the love and desire in his being.

Julia looked calmly into his meltingly brown eyes, making sure he recognized her words as a solemn vow: "And I want to be back, William. In every way."


End file.
